Africa 84 (4) 2014: 658–67 doi:10.1017/S0001972014000527 DEBATING ‘THE REDISCOVERY OF LIBERALISM’ IN ZAMBIA: RESPONSES TO HARRI ENGLUND David M. Gordon, Bizeck Jube Phiri, Giacomo Macola, James Ferguson In Africa 83(4) (November 2013), Harri Englund discussed several recent books on Zambia published preceding the country’s fiftieth independence anniversary. His article explored the ways in which recent publications by Zambian and Zambianist authors have launched a fresh research agenda, and he focused in particular on the scholarly engagement with liberalism. Below, we publish responses from David M. Gordon, Bizeck Jube Phiri and Giacomo Macola, whose work was discussed in this article, and a comment by James Ferguson on more scholarly directions. ‘The Hour Has Come!’ was the slogan that brought Frederick Chiluba and his neoliberal government victory over Zambia’s long-time president, Kenneth Kaunda, in 1991. Less than a decade later Zambians riffed, ‘The Hour Is Sour.’ Zambians and Zambianist scholars alike have been ambivalent about the ‘redis- covery of liberalism’, the theme that organizes Englund’s review article. The latest generation of historians has not embraced a political programme, unlike their Marxist predecessors, or, perhaps to Englund’s disappointment, even cohered around a set of theoretical concerns. Liberalism might describe some common sensibilities, but it remains distrusted, associated with the corruption of Chiluba’s regime and the enforcement of free market policies by international agencies. Historiography, instead, reveals multifaceted forms of resistance to Kaunda and his administration alongside disillusionment with the neoliberalism that replaced it. The heroics of opposition to Kaunda formed one angle of investigation, but so did the shortfalls of Chiluba’s government, whether in the form of IMF-inspired prophecies, or, in my case, Pentecostal prognostics. My book reviewed by Englund, Invisible Agents, shows how spiritual ideas inspired political opposition to secular regimes, including the colonial administration, Kaunda’s humanism, and potentially also liberalism. The intention was never to claim that spirits were the ‘mainstay’ of Zambian politics, as Englund asserts, but rather that they were one aspect of political discourse that inspired agency. Across a century-long his- tory, spiritual ideas were a precarious basis for hegemony and domination but an effective form of resistance. Disappointment in and distrust of political rulers, I suggest, emerged out of this particular history of resistance. The final chapter of the book, which details how Pentecostal-inspired political movements contributed to Kaunda’s downfall and provided a political ideology that engaged with the post-Kaunda regime, is most relevant to Englund’s focus. The neoliberal era in Zambia offered opportunities for some, along with the end- ing of older, sometimes more stable, livelihoods for many. Englund, like myself, thinks that such economic and religious processes need to be shown to be ‘mutually constituted’, without subsuming one within the other. The problem is © International African Institute 2014 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Open University Library, on 11 May 2019 at 18:27:24, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0001972014000527 DEBATING ZAMBIA 659 not one of theory, but of the practice of historical writing grounded in sources that emphasize voice. Statements about economic conditions reveal little about how people perceived new patterns of impoverishment and wealth, and how they engaged the ruling class around these issues. Scholars attuned to economic inequality often prefer to portray opposition as a direct materialist critique of those who acquire power and wealth at the expense of others. But this register of dissent hardly captures the nuances of oppositional voices. In the 1980s, Zambians criticized wealthy politicians, but they also reflected on their government’s failure to act against the forces that blocked opportunities and the realization of their desires, along with their government’s repression of those who could help in achieving health and wealth. Their government, some Zambians argued, was supposed to moderate capriciousness and harness uncertainty to serendipity; in short, rather than adopting the socialist and egalitarian emphasis of Zambian humanism, they wanted a government that helped them achieve individual prosperity. I argue that Pentecostalism – and perhaps liberalism for some – addressed these frustrations. Englund finds this focus on achieving prosperity more reflective of globe- trotting English-speaking pastors of the era (in fact, a diverse bunch of West Africans, South Africans, Americans and Europeans) than of Zambian Pentecostals. In addition, he thinks that there are ‘spurious parallels between Pentecostalism’s alleged emphasis on individual salvation and neo-liberal economics’ (p. 684). But what might the politics of a more authentic African (or Zambian) Pentecostalism look like? Englund writes of the ‘majority of its African adherents: impoverished rural and peri-urban populations and struggling middle classes’ (p. 684). Even if the urban elite I allegedly describe (based on my interviews with them and fieldwork in their churches) is the minority, and even if they do parrot some ideas of globe-trotting preachers, this elite, at both the helm of religious organizations and the front line of state political influence, is im- portant. These Pentecostal big men and big women, as I call them, with their vertical client networks, complicate class-based and even spatial differentiations. Global Pentecostalism gave voice to the frustrations of many Zambians, whether they were Pentecostals or not. The purchase of Pentecostal ideas in Zambian political and religious discourses represented the intersection of global and vernacular ideas, not unlike the situation with other movements, such as those relating to indigenous rights, class struggle or environmental justice, which adopt and innovate a global political vocabulary as a basis for local action. Scholars need to be wary of ‘spurious analogies’ (p. 685), as Englund repeats, but they also have to be aware of the way in which transnational ideologies take on local meanings, which is what my work on Pentecostalism explores. Englund’s review of Larmer, Macola and Phiri’s scholarship notices their proclivity to write about opposition, but often from the perspective of leaders. There are, as Englund observes, ‘anti-authoritarian sensibilities’ (p. 673) that run through all our scholarship: a tendency to highlight, perhaps celebrate, resistance. In my case, Invisible Agents centres on one of the most denigrated and mar- ginalized of Zambian communities, the Lumpa, who made spiritual issues a basis for a rebellion against Kaunda’s post-independence government. However, the tendency of historians – committed (more or less) to reveal the history of resis- tance from below – to write about oppositional movements in terms of the history of their leaders betrays an interesting tension in this historiography, linked, Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Open University Library, on 11 May 2019 at 18:27:24, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0001972014000527 660 DEBATING ZAMBIA perhaps, to the nature of the movements themselves, which often mirrored hege- monic patron–client arrangements even as they opposed them. The point is less about spurious analogies, as Englund puts it, than about a problematic tendency to attribute substantially alternative modes of governance to opposition move- ments. Opposition to Kaunda, for example, did not imply a liberal politics. In this regard, Invisible Agents concludes that spiritual ideas, emerging from global and local contexts, inspired agency but never became effective governing ideologies. Sometimes transnational ideologies were especially influential for local forms of political opposition, as in the case of Pentecostalism; elsewhere, as with the Lumpa, spiritual ideas arose predominantly out of local histories. For some Zambians, spiritual beliefs were an embarrassing remnant of tradition or of over- enthusiastic Pentecostals; for others, spirits defined the trajectory of their lives. These concerns did not always shape politics, but they did inform challenges to dominant forms of sovereignty across modern Zambian history. They have done so, my book suggests, because spiritual ideas trace one path in the conceptual history of Central African political agency. DAVID M. GORDON Bowdoin College, Brunswick (Maine) [email protected] Reading Harri Englund’s review article on the new historiography of Zambia and delving into his highly perceptive interrogation of the six books that were the focus of the article, I was humbled by his analysis of the issues I raised in my book (Phiri 2006). The Capricorn Africa Society, which is the subject of my book, was sidelined by Africanist scholars and even occasionally dismissed. At the same time, the architect of the Capricorn Africa Society, David Sterling, was a subject of enquiry by another author in a biographical piece by Richard Hughes (Youé 2004). But Hughes’ work was described as ‘antiquated, thin, and Eurocentric’ (Youé 2004: 362). In Youé’s study, the Capricorn Africa Society was seen as an organization that characteristically consisted of members of the ‘generally upper-